


Arise

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Ficlet, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28003386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A moment at Balfonheim Port after the Pharos.
Relationships: Balthier/Fran (Ivalice Alliance)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Arise

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XII or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They stood so strong together, but they fall apart at port like bottles blown over the sand, each in their own silence. Some stray towards the bazaar to rack up their wares, others to sell the treasures they’ve found, Balthier to drown his sorrows in a pint, at least until he realizes his best drinking buddy’s slipped him by. He turns over his shoulder, and she isn’t standing there, like she almost _always_ is—like she always should be, when she’s not the one walking up ahead. Like all of them, she must need a few seconds of solitude to _breathe_ , to soak in the life they all still have and fought so hard for. It leaves Balthier alone on the crowded street, his friends all gone into the ether.

There was a time when Balthier thought he’d spend his whole life alone. He grew up well and happy, gifted with charm and too many acquaintances, not enough close conspirators. Then he grew into adulthood and realized even acquaintances were liabilities and he couldn’t truly _trust_ a single soul. But he hasn’t been lonely since the day Fran strolled into his life like a goddess or an esper, greater and more beautiful than anything he knew. She has his trust now, and he never needs time without her. 

He finds her soon enough, because they’re always drawn together, both tangled up in the same invisible string. He only needs to give it a simple tug, and his heart pulls him forward, one step after the other down the stone steps into the plaza, out towards the pier, where she’s perched on a post like a living statue. Her posture’s relaxed, back bent, but he can see the light in her eyes. Her gaze is lost somewhere along the sea, out into the horizon. It’s a wondrous day, all gorgeous blue skies and tranquil waters, like the fate of their whole world wasn’t almost swallowed up in greed and revenge. 

He comes right to her side. Another hume would have her straightening, alert and ready, but she must know it’s him without even a glance. She’s probably so attuned to his cologne that she could smell him halfway across the port. When he’s close enough to hear over the breeze and the cry of gulls, she murmurs, “I had meant for you to leave me, you know.” He pauses for a fraction of a second before moving on, sliding into place beside her on the narrow ledge. His legs cross like hers, shorter and less shapely, pale under his trousers rather than dark and exposed. They’re different in so many ways, but enough alike that she must know his answer. She rolls on, “The Mist was so strong that I was sure I would die of it regardless, or worse, that I would become a witless beast again and claw out your throat.”

“Oh, you would never hurt me,” he drawls, made casual with confidence. “You love me _far_ too much.”

Fran smiles thinly. It’s a lovely thing, like all her looks, small and delicate but telling—so few others can tempt anything but a stern frown out of her. Yet she lets him shift to place his hand on her thigh, right between her corset and her leggings, all bare skin, soft and smooth. In any other case, the touch would be intimate. It’s high enough, close enough to certain places, and they both lose much of their control when they dare to touch skin to skin. In this case, there’s no fire in his eyes, just warmth. She needs to know that there was no way he would have ever left her behind, even if she were bleeding out and cold. 

“You come to comfort me,” she murmurs, reading him as right as usual. Then her eyes lift to his, and she pierces into him. “Yet it was you who watched your own father fall.”

He shakes his head. Only a few months earlier, he might’ve winced, but like all of them, he’s had to mature fast. He knew it was coming, only a matter of time, and already came to peace with the knowledge that they’d never have the relationship he wanted. “I lost my father long ago.” And more importantly: “I still have what matters to me now.”

Fran sighs. It’s a wearier sound than any of the others could make, because she breathes and knows deeper. “For all the terror of the world, we are lucky, the two of us.”

He agrees. It’s strange, but he does. His hand drifts from her leg to her knuckles, and his fingers wrap around her palm, gently lifting it away from the stone beneath her. He brings her hand to his lips to kiss, and she grins lightly at his chivalry. “We are that, indeed.”

“Are we to buy a room for the night, then, so that we might have our privacy?” He can’t drop her hand, because she twists her grip to hold onto him, their fingers locking together. Fran’s never been precious about sleeping arrangements—has always been just fine under the stars. 

He’s still teasing when he counters, “I can’t simply take you out to the bush beyond town?”

She chuckles. Before her, he’d never heard any viera _laugh_ before, and so didn’t know what marvels he was missing. It’s a glorious sound, befitting one so beautiful, even when it’s so quiet that no one passing by should hear. “If you can convince the others to keep their distance, then I will settle for that,” she bargains. “We have little ones now, and I would not disturb them with my screams.”

His brow lifts, lips twitching up at the corner. His thumb rubs across the back of her hind, all too aware of her long nails trailing over his wrist. “Oh? You plan on screaming, do you?”

“If I do not, then you have not done your job well.”

He’s always loved their jousting. She keeps up with him easily, and he returns, “Have I ever failed to?”

There’s a conspicuous pause where she seems to be thinking, perhaps pouring over every intimate encounter they’ve ever shared, where he’s always done his very best to please her. He’s never once let himself drift off after his own finish without aiding hers, even on the nights where she’s been restless and difficult, too eager to play with her prey. He’s been the beast she wanted some nights and the submissive doll she’s asked for others, has taken her and been taken in every position he can think of, against every surface of the _Strahl _and several other ships. Yet she dares to hesitate before finally leaning over to purr against his ear, “No, my hume. You have always done me well.” Then she presses her forehead against his, the metal of her headgear rifling through his sandy hair. He tilts to rub his nose against hers: the way she most likes to be kissed.__

__He likes _just having her_. It’s enough to sit beside her, to enjoy the blue skies and salt air with her in his presence. His homeland’s doomed and his father with it, but it’s hard to feel as though he’s lost anything when he has her smile in his eyes. _ _

__They watch the waves a little longer, then retire together and find more than solace in that company._ _


End file.
